


Only One Allowed to Hurt You

by Sereq_ieh_Dashret



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst with a Happy Ending, Chronic Illness, Dark Side Positivity, Devotion, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Happy Ending, Fanfiction of Fanfiction, First Aid, First Time, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Lots of Headcanons on in, Lots of Hurt, M/M, Mandalore Maul, Mandalorian Culture, Maul is a BAMF, Maul is disabled, Mental Health Issues, NOT A DARKFIC, Nemesis as a term of enedearment, Past Child Abuse, Past Torture, Physical Disability, Possessive Behavior, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rescue Missions, Self-Sacrifice, Sidious is his own warning, Torture, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, lots of comfort too, suicide mission
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:02:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23702032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sereq_ieh_Dashret/pseuds/Sereq_ieh_Dashret
Summary: After the conquest of Sundari and his election to Manda'lore by the Tsad Droten assembly of the Clans, Maul has everything he could ever dreamed of, however his thoughts are never far from his nemesis Obi-Wan Kenobi.He just can't let go of him, to the point that he can't let anyone else hurt him.Things come to a head when he learns that Sidious has captured his nemesis and Maul has to choose whether to lose Obi-Wan or face his worst nightmares to rescue him.Contains graphic torture and violence, plus loads of mental health issues, but it is emphatically NOT a darkfic. Happy ending guaranteed (if I can keep going long enough to get there).
Relationships: Darth Maul & Gar Saxon, Darth Maul & Korkie Kryze, Darth Maul & Savage Opress, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Darth Maul, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Satine Kryze
Comments: 55
Kudos: 204





	1. The Call

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Two Against the Empire](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15204749) by [Sereq_ieh_Dashret](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sereq_ieh_Dashret/pseuds/Sereq_ieh_Dashret). 



> This whole fic basically originated from one single sentence in TAE, during the Feast for the Dead scene and then expanded from there until I had to write it.
> 
> Warnings: implied/referenced past torture and abuse, grief, mourning, possessive behaviour, unhealthy coping mechanisms.

The comm goes off with a quiet buzz.

His hearts start to beat faster in his chest and no amount of self control could slow them down. There is only one person who has the coordinates of this data-chip and only one reason why they would call him.

"Greetings Maul, or should I call you Manda'lore now?"

Boba Fett risks a shit-eating grin, but only because he knows the information he brings is too valuable.

"Cut the crap, Fett. Your next report wasn't due until next week, and you wouldn't make a social call. What have you got?" Maul asks, crossing his arms on his chest and leaning against the counter.

"I have just met one of my sources. They have it on good faith that your quarry has been captured by Dooku while on a solo mission," the boy reveals with an even wider grin.

It takes him all of his self-control not to react at that piece of news, not to show anything of the chaos of feelings that is roiling inside him.

"Damn it!" he thinks.

This is much worse than all the other times.

When a Dark Acolyte or a bounty hunter were after his nemesis it was easy enough to intercept them and dispose of them quietly before they could get to their target, and a few times he had even considered the idea of going after the Great Clanker himself so he would stop targeting his prey, but Dooku is always behind enemy lines, in well-defended places.

This is not something that can be easily done by just him and Savage under the guise of a training mission. This would require an extraction team, and he cannot really justify risking the lives of his ori'ramikad for something so personal.

He doesn't want them to know. They would think him weak and crazy for obsessing so much about his nemesis, to the point that he cannot stand the idea of anyone else hurting him, to the point of making an effort to save his life so that he would be able to take it later.

No, these things are better left unsaid, unthought, even. He will have to sit this one out, no matter how much his blood boils at the thought. 

Even though he has no faith in the competence of the Jedi and their pet fake-Mando'ade, they have managed to keep him alive for thirteen years while he was incapacitated, they will be able to rescue him again, somehow, he tells himself, unconvincingly.

"My source says that Dooku's own boss wanted to have a word with him. Rumour has it that they are running out of Dark Acolytes because someone keeps on killing them, and need to source new ones, if you know what I mean," the kid continues, obliviously or maliciously, Maul cannot tell and this time he cannot even help the small, pathetic sound that escapes him at his words.

"No..." he thinks.

His nemesis in Sidious' hands... at Sidious' nonexistent mercy... No, that cannot be, it cannot happen.

A bout of nausea overcomes him, his head spins, forcing him to grab the edge of the counter for support.

He has seen what Sidious does to prisoners, he has heard the screams go on for days, or weeks, he's had to dispose of the bodies, of what was left of them, masses of broken, tortured flesh that only vaguely resembled sentient beings.

He cannot let it happen to his nemesis, he must not.

He must do something!

"Hey, dude, are you alright?" Boba Fett calls, concern written large on his sun-browned face.

"Where? Where have they taken him?" he rasps, ignoring him.

"The Spire. It's a semi-secret maximum security prison deep in CIS space. I am sending you the coordinates, but this is nuts even for you, man..." the boy comments, shaking his head.

"When I have need of your advice, I will ask it," Maul spits and thankfully the boy keeps his mouth shut.

The data pings on his terminal and he scans it eagerly. Thankfully the Force-forsaken place is supposedly secret, but not too far away from the Mandalore system. If he departs immediately and makes haste, he can get there in a day or so, before Sidious has time to do much damage.

"The money should be on your account already. It has been a dubious pleasure working with you, Boba son of Jango," he says, in lieu of farewell and cuts the call.

Maul allows himself only enough time to pack a bag with weapons and medical supplies before he sneaks to the hangars and guns the Gauntlet out of the system at full speed. He hasn't told anybody where he's going, especially his Lieutenents and Savage.

A part of him recognises that they have a right to know and feels guilty about going behind their backs, but he can't see any other way. He can't let anyone else hurt Kenobi, especially not Sidious, but there are prices he won't pay, not even for his nemesis' life.

In the brief time since he's had the news, he's made peace with the fact that he will probably die in this mission, but he cannot stand the idea that Sidious will be able to hurt his brother, or his two closest friends.

He has already taken enough from him and his family. He can't ask it of them.

No, this is the way, the only way.

It's not the first time he flies alone towards a nearly impossible mission, his years of servitude under Sidious were an almost uninterrupted sequence of those. It is however the first time he does it not because he's been commanded to lay down his life for the supposed cause, but because he's taken this decision himself, because there is something out there that is worth dying for, and that something is not power, nor freedom, but a person, the person that he would have every right to hate just as much as Sidious.

And, sure, he hates Kenobi for destroying the lie that was his life, but a Galaxy without him still feels like an unspeakable, unending horror, like the cruelest of punishments.

Alone on the Gauntlet which normally resonates with the voices of his brother and his sworn warriors, that thought runs in circles around his mind like a dog trying to catch his own tail.

He knows is a terrible Sith for feeling like this, but this is something he cannot fight, he cannot change. It's part of him, like the scars that Kenobi gave him.

That day on Theed changed him irrevocably, and as of late he is not sure that it was all for the worse.


	2. The Spire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two updates in a bit more than two weeks is definitely not a rate you should get used to, folks.
> 
> Please do not leave spoilers for Clone Wars S7 in the comments, I haven't watched anything beyond S7E3. Thanks.
> 
> WARNINGS: mental health issues, dysfunctional coping mechanisms.
> 
> Enjoy!

The ship decants into realspace after a jump of a few hours. 

Maul hasn't slept a wink, he was way too wired for that. The usual pre-battle excitement is mixed with a sharp anguish that not even deep meditation or meticulous, paranoid planning can solve. 

What if he's already too late? What if there is nothing left of Kenobi but agony and broken flesh and the only thing he can do is put an end to his suffering?

He has killed so many people he's lost count, but the idea makes him sick.

"No, no!" he whispers, eyes squeezed shut as if he could unsee the images his mind has just conjured.

Bile rises in his throat, stinging and awful and he's glad he was too nervous to eat anything because he's pretty sure he would have revisited it. His limbs feel shaky, weak and watery.

He can't go in there like this, or he's going to get killed like an idiot without accomplishing anything.  
He needs to center himself, somehow.

Slowly, hesitantly, he lowers down his mental barriers (such as they are) and opens himself up to the Force looking for a sun-bright presence that is as familiar to him as his own from the long years he's spent in the darkness with it as his only light.

It used to be almost subconscious to reach out for his nemesis, and it is almost a miracle that he never noticed in all those years. It used to be a crutch, one that he has almost completely discarded once he was well enough to stand on his own, but now it is like a homing beacon, that points him unerringly towards his goal.

The first thing he feels is pain, intense, pervasive, nauseating, and fear and hopelessness, solitude and anger.

It is almost as if he'd just been brought back some thirteen years to the first days of his sojourn on Lotho Minor, when he was still forcing himself to hope against hope that Sidious would come and take him away, even though a large part of him knew he had been discarded.

The feeling is so intense that for a moment he doesn't remember where he is and what is real, that it seems to him like he's still there, like his escape and all that came after were only dreams he's been dreaming not to lose his mind completely.

Disoriented, he sways on his feet, almost loses his balance, only to catch himself on the console of his ship.

His ship... he's on the Gauntlet, not back in that hellish trap, he's as hale and healthy as he can be.

Anger surges through him and the world comes back into sharper focus. 

If there is anyone who would have a right to make his nemesis feel like that, that would be him, not Sidious for whom Kenobi is nothing but another task to be completed and to whom his suffering means nothing but a fleeting amusement.

Kenobi's death will be by his saber, where and when he decides to strike, and it should be by his hand and his will alone that suffering is delivered.

Sidious took already too much from him. He's not going to have this.

A brief sweep with the Force reveals no other presences in the Spire, especially none that feel dark and cold and poisonous. Sidious is not there, called away by some other CIS duty or whatever he does when he pretends not to be the biggest son of a blaster in the Galaxy.

There is not going to be a better occasion than this.

The thermal scans of the Gauntlet show no other prisoners inside the Spire apart from Kenobi. No living being patrols the corridor either.

Droid guards then. It is very much like Sidious to leave his "charges" in the sole company of machines, mired in desolation without even the comfort of another sentient being.

Maul sets the autopilot and grabs his old saber, testing its grip in his fist. Sometimes he feels like he's almost outgrown the weapon he first made as a teenager, but using it for this feels strangely fitting as if both he and it had finally come full circle from trying to kill Kenobi on Sidious' orders to trying to save him because he wills so.

The Gauntlet sweeps over the Spire, gliding quietly with its engines on minimum speed. He grabs his kit bag, clips his saber to his belt and jumps out of the cargo bay and into the void.

Cold wind whistles in his ears and rips a few tears out of his eyes. If silence wasn't of the absolute essence, he would whoop with exhilaration. It has been definitely too long since the last time he skydived, and the freefall finishes far too soon for his taste.

Floating gently on an air current, steering himself as much with the Force as with his parachute, he approaches one of the landing bays that jut out of the central tower.

The landing is easy enough, and silent. Confident of being still undetected, Maul unhitches the harness of his parachute and lets the whole piece of kit fall off the edge of the bay, down in the abyss that legends deem bottomless.

It's a pity and a waste, but he wouldn't have been able to come back for it anyway and now he has more pressing concerns than the environment or frugality.

Hood up and his face covered by a black scarf to hide as much as possible of his brightly coloured skin, he slips from shadow to shadow, as silently as he can, given the circumstances. He's re-learned to do almost everything he could do before, some things he can even do better, but moving with complete stealth, making no more noise than a breath of wind... yeah, that's not a thing anymore, unfortunately. 

He makes do, though.

With the slight metal clanck of his footsteps, he can probably pass for an overly cautious droid, and the sentinels remain none the wiser until he separates their heads from their shoulders.

The landing bay doors give up quickly enough to his slicing efforts and he's in. 

The very air inside the Spire reeks of blood, of torment and desperation, as if the walls themselves had been impregnated with it over time. 

This is wrong, he thinks. He can't really articulate what specifically is wrong with it, but he the wrongness of it pervades him.

A surge of anger bubbles through his veins and this time he lets himself sink in it.  
The Dark Side sings in his veins. It whispers of broken chains and prisons torn wall from wall.

He doesn't have enough explosives to tear this whole place apart, as much as he would love to, but at the very least he can make it very expensive for Sidious to refit the place once he's done with it.

He slowly works his way through the corridors, thrashing every single droid he encounters and slicing through every security system.

Sidious must have been very confident that he would have never walked out of Lotho Minor, because he didn't update them much at all since Theed.

If he still thought that Sidious really meant all the things he told him about his role in the palingenesis of the Galaxy, he would be mortally offended and ashamed of the lack of confidence in his ability to endure and survive inherent in this oversight.  
Right now he is just grateful for it and leaves it at that.

He lets the Force guide him deeper and deeper into the fortress, following the faint beacon of Kenobi's presence like a lodestar, thrashing and destroying everything he can as he goes, until the only thing that separates them is one steel safety door.

His hands shake as he slices his way through the security protocols of the access panel. It takes an inordinate amount of time and swearing for him to do so. Perhaps it has better security, given what precious cargo it guards, or perhaps he's just too nervous to concentrate properly.  
He tries not to think about it.

The door finally gives, unlocking with a slight pneumatic hiss. It won't open by itself, but it's good enough for him.

He rips the coverings from his face and tears the panels open with a burst of Force, stepping over the wreckage and into the room like a man who faces his doom.


	3. The Cell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> STRONG CW WARNINGS: this chapter is basically made of triggers, including past and current abuse, torture, choking, blood, psychological and emotional distress, grief. Sidious is his own warning.
> 
> Think about whether you're cool with reading about the things I have outlined. Otherwise I suggest skipping the chapter entirely and sending me a comment for an expurgated summary.
> 
> Readers are advised that they proceed at their own risk and that I am not responsible for curating your reading experience.

The torture chamber smells like a charnel house, like blood and sweat and terror. 

Under harsh fluorescent lights Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi hangs naked from chains bolted on the ceiling. His feet barely brush the floor, forcing him to stand on tiproes or suffocate. His legs tremble with the effort, his arms and shoulders strain from the suspension, probably already half-dislocated. 

His pink skin is painted with welts, bruises and blood and covered in a fine sheen of sweat. A good chunk of it has been flayed away on his torso, exposing red muscle and a white gleam of bones.

He's seen worse before, hell, he's done worse, but for some reason this leaves him almost paralysed with horror.

"Did they call you in to finish the job?" Kenobi rasps.  
His lips are split and bleeding, his breath is short and irregular, and one of his blue, blue eyes is swollen shut from a blow. The other shines feverish and hollow.

Maul shakes his head weakly.

He's been thinking about this moment for days, but now that he's standing in front of him the words he thought he wanted to say refuse to come out of his mouth and all he can think of is that it is his fault in a way.

He hasn't wielded the knife, but he's unwittingly set things in motion so that he would end up like this.

He remains frozen in horrified contemplation for a long, silent moment, paralysed by guilt, and he feels like he could stay there like this until the end of time, but then Kenobi slips on blood-slicked tiles and looses his footing and all his weight loads on his overstretched shoulders and he cries out so pitifully that Maul feels like his hearts are tearing themselves into pieces.

He's come late enough, but not too late. He can still help. He can still fix it, he tells himself, dashing towards his nemesis.

He wants to tear those bloody chains apart with his Force, chop them through with his saber, but he can't. He can't cause him any more pain, he can't even think about it right now.

"What... what are you... doing?!" Kenobi asks.

He tries to shy away, but he's too weak to move, and hanging like this he can barely breathe.

Maul wraps his right arm around Kenobi's torso and props him upright enough that he'll be able to breathe.  
His blood seeps sluggishly through his clothes and the smell of it saturates his senses. With every rasping breath a quiet whimper escapes his nemesis' lips. 

He doesn't understand how he ever thought that getting him to this state would be a desirable outcome. He doesn't know why he ever dreamed about it.

It's not easy to undo a par of manacles one-handed. It's even harder to undo them when your sight is blurry with tears, but eventually the metal gives way and he lowers them both gently to the ground.

Kenobi shivers and twitches uncoordinately in his arms, whimpering and sobbing as blood returns in his arms and hands and his legs rest for the first time in Force knows how long.

Maul has to bite his lip bloody to keep quiet and keep in all the murmured, nonsensical reassurances and promises that threaten to spill out of him.

Kenobi would not understand, he would not believe him, and it does not matter anyway. All it matters is to get Kenobi out of here and back to safety, where he can recover and forget.

Somehow he manages to shuck off his tunic without letting him go or jostling him too hard. It's stained with blood and droid lubricant, but it's clean enough and it will keep him warm.

The wounded Jedi lets him wrap it around his shaking shoulders without protest, and he's sure it's not just wishful thinking that makes him see Kenobi sink gratefully into the fabric's residual heat.

A twist of Force is enough to call his canteen to his hands. He takes a sip first, to demonstrate that it's not tainted, then presses it against the Jedi's mouth.

Kenobi looks a question to him, but drinks deeply, almost greedily, until Maul takes the canteen away.

It wouldn't do to make him sick, on top of everything.

It's hard to judge, but lack of active torment, warmth and hydration seem to have improved his conditions somewhat.

Maul decides to take it as a good sign.

He wishes he could give him more time to get some strength back, but there isn't any left.

"Can you walk, Kenobi?" he asks.  
It's somehow sad that this is the first thing he manages to say to him.

"Are... are you worried for me?!" Kenobi asks instead of replying, but doesn't try to shy away from his touch when he tries to make him stand, even though wherever he touches him, it must hurt.

The idea of causing him more pain is strangely repulsive for now. And yet he has to: they have to get out now, before Dooku, or worse, Sidious finds out what happened and intercepts them.

"Save your breath, Kenobi. Shut up and stand, damn you. We have to move!" he deflects, struggling to hold him upright on the slippery floor.

Kenobi does his best, but his legs are shaking badly and his breath crackles and rattles strangely in his chest with every breath.

"They drowned you." Maul realises, putting two and two together.

Kenobi nods, huddling even more in his borrowed tunic.

Pneumonia, Maul thinks, with another surge of anger. He's burning with fever. He needs antibiotics and perhaps oxygen and... Force, he came as quickly as he knew but he was very nearly too late.

"We're nearly out of here. You'll be alright."

The words escape him almost unbidden, before he can stop himself.

Kenobi's halting gait grinds to a stop and them man turns towards him with a vicious gleam in his eyes. In spite of everything, he still blazes like the sun and at such close quarters it's almost unbearable.

"Why are doing this, Maul? Why would you ever? Are you even real? Am I hallucinating about you?" he asks and Maul cannot help the wry laugh that escapes him.

They have truly come full circle, but there is hardly any satisfaction in knowing that Sidious very nearly broke his nemesis as badly as he broke him. Surely that makes him a bad Sith, but he regrets ever wishing this on him.

"It would only be fair, to tell the truth, but contrary to you back then, I am real, and I am going to get you out of here, if you help me." Maul retorts, letting a bit of sarcasm back in his voice. 

He didn't mean to tell him quite so much, but Kenobi is almost delirious, he will probably forget all about this as soon as he's back with his people and they will be back to hunting each other. This will mean nothing to him and, yes, it hurts to think about it, but there is nothing he can do to change it.

"Come on, Kenobi. I cannot carry you and fight. Do you want to live or not? Do you want to see your Jedi friends and that reckless Padawan of yours again or not?" he prods.

Kenobi stares at him for another long moment, confusion written lage on his face, then blinks slowly.

"Y-yes." he admits.

"Good, then move. Three, two, one!" he counts and Kenobi moves again with renewed determination, leaning against him for support as if it was natural, as if they'd done it a thousand times after a battle.

It's beyond messed up, but he knows he's going to miss this.

"Where do you think you are going?" a voice calls as the door opens.

That voice... Maul thinks and the thought makes him freeze with fear.

Sidious stands in front of him, across the threshold, not in person, no. It is a hologram, but Maul knows from experience that this doesn't mean that he's any less dangerous. 

Sidious waves his hand almost lazily and the two of them are sent flying like ragdolls towards the far wall, where they impact with a breath-stealing, bone-jarring impact. 

Before he can get to his feet, two droids charge, converging on Kenobi.  
Maul was so concentrated on his worst fear that he had not even noticed them. His saber has rolled away, but it is of no consequence: he's beaten their ilk without it before and he can do it again, he thinks. 

As soon as he tries to move, though, a crushing weight lands on his chest, pinning him against the wall. All he can do is watch as the two droids beat Kenobi half-unconscious and tie him up to the torture table.

"You wanted him for yourself, didn't you, my former Apprentice? You wanted to steal him from me to take your revenge?" Sidious drawls as the hologram drifts closer like a noxious spectre.

He tries to back away, tries to struggle, to break this invisible hold, but it is all in vain. He can't move, can't escape, can't help Kenobi. He can't do anything against his Master. He never could.

"Yours... what a notion! Everything you ever had, it was on my sufferance, and it was exhausted a long time ago, together with your purpose." Sidious continues, evidently relishing the moment but nothing he can say can make it worse than it already is.

"Did you really think I would be lenient with a failure like you? When I left you on that rubbish dump of a planet it was for a reason. You are nothing but a loose end now, and you know what happens to loose ends, don't you? But it must be your lucky day, my former Apprentice, because today I am feeling a little bit lenient, so I will grant you a boon: to watch your enemy die little by little before I kill you." he announces and waves a hand towards he droids. 

One of them pulls out a short-bladed thin knife, cuts a shallow line of blood into Kenobi's torso and slowly, methodically starts flaying a strip of skin off him

Kenobi screams, and screams, a high-pitched sound of pure agony that Maul had never imagined he could make, and tries to thrash, to get away from the knife, from the pain, but the other droid holds him tight, and he is already weak and feverish...

Sidious is holding Maul by the throat with the Force, not quite squeezing, not yet, just to make sure he looks and doesn't look away. 

He has trained himself not to struggle in situations like this, he knows that it is a useless gesture of defiance that would just make him angrier and crueler, but this time he cannot help it. 

It is wrong, wrong, wrong, and it is his fault and there is nothing he can do, except this: he can scream, he can struggle, fight with everything he has, refuse to submit, to give his consent to this, because he doesn't want this, he has never wanted this, not even in the darkest moments of his agony.

Sidious tightens his hold more and more, until he can no longer breathe, until flickers of light start appearing through his field of view, until it all goes dark around the edges, but he doesn't stop struggling. 

If he dies, at least he won't have to see this, to be complicit in this horror, he thinks, but he should have known better. 

Sidious is not the one to accidentally kill his victims in a moment of anger, and eventually he finds himself on the grimy floor, coughing and heaving, choking on his own breath. He shakes so badly from adrenaline and shock that he can hardly move.

Kenobi lies limp and bleeding on the table, a bloodied flap of skin hanging from his chest. Soft sounds of pain escape him with every breath. 

They were so close...

"Pathetic!" Sidious spits.

"Attachment has always been you greatest weakness, my former Apprentice. You've always been so desperate to find even a shred of companionship, of affection... but this... this is ridiculous even for a laughable creature like you." he continues.

"Now I guess I can expect you to ask me to hurt you instead of him... won't you? Wouldn't you trade places with him?"

Maul's throat is too sore for speech but Sidious reads the answer in his eyes.

"Just as I had imagined. But there is a problem, you see? Neither of you pathetic wastes of space is going to get out of here alive, no matter what you do." he drawls, and even though he knows that he should have expected it still steals the breath from his lungs. 

His death is something he has come to terms with, but he had always thought he would manage to save Kenobi, at least.

"You have a choice now: you can get a swift death after you've watched me take my time with your Jedi, or you can kill him yourself and give yourself up to me to do as I please. And I promise you, Apprentice, what I would do to you would make the agony of your last thirteen years pale in comparison." Sidious continues, grinning under his hood.

His voice holds a tinge of excitement that sends shivers down Maul's back.  
He is looking forward to making them both suffer, to stretch out his enjoyment as much as he can. There is no way to win, he can only choose which type of pain he'd rather suffer.

"I'll do it. I'll kill him." he rasps and as soon as the words leave his mouth, he knows that this was the wrong answer for Sidious.

Disappointment is writ large in his grimace, in the way he tenses and balls his pale hands into fists.

A wave of panic crests over him, filling him with the impulse to grovel and ask for forgiveness, but he pushes it down. He's made his choice and he will follow through with it with all the dignity he can muster.

"You're even more pathetic than I thought. But if that's what you wish, so be it." Sidious says eventually as he heaves himself to his knees and then to his feet, breathing heavily.

He tries to call his mutilated saber from the floor, but a gesture from Sidious stops it mid-air.

"You are not a Sith. You're a weakling. You have lost the right to carry this." he says.  
Another gesture and his saber, the one he built for himself with pain and meditation, the one who was at his side throughout thirteen years of hell, the one that conquered him a kingdom and should have given him his revenge, strains under an invisible force and then shatters into so much wreckage, the crystals reduced to dust.

It is as if someone had punched him in the stomach, or worse, it takes his breath and his strength away. His vision blacks out for a moment and he staggers.

When one of the droids shoves a knife into his hand, he grabs it by instinct. It's the knife it used to flay Kenobi, short and thin and sharp and still sticky with his blood.

A dry heave wracks him and he nearly drops the blade. Nearly. He doesn't want to spur Sidious to any further cruelty.

"That's better. Now cut his heart out and bring it to me." Sidious orders.

Maul cannot help but stare at him for a long moment, uncomprehending. He must have heard it wrong. He must have.

Sidious lets out a cold, high-pitched cackle.

"Did you really think I would let you off so easily? Are you truly so naive?" he taunts and Maul lowers his eyes in shame, because he was. He thought that he could still limit the damage by sacrificing himself.  
He should have known better, he should have realised how powerless he was. 

"At least give me a proper weapon!" he exclaims in desperation.

Something hits him in the lower back, close to the junction between flesh and prosthetics, tearing a cry out of his throat, then agony floods into him, so intense and all-consuming that he doesn't even find the breath to scream. What is left of his spine is on fire and it feels like his mutilated innards are tearing themselves apart. 

He loses control of his legs as they spasm, jerking with the waves of electricity coursing through him. He falls to the floor like a puppet on broken strings, and the agony is so intense that he cannot even think of throwing his hands forward to break his fall.

It seems like a century before the agony recedes, letting him think, breathe, feel. 

He's on the floor again and everything, everything hurts. His arm is bleeding from where he cut himself with the knife, and his mouth is full of blood.

"You are in no position to make demands, worm! Do as I command, or both of you will pay the price for your disobedience." Sidious hisses.

Maul struggles to his feet again. Everything hurts and he cannot stop shaking with pain and terror. 

He has failed. He was too weak, too little, too late, insignificant. He has only managed to make things worse, he tells himself as he staggers towards Kenobi.

He had contemplated the possibility of a mercy kill as a worst-case scenario, but there is no mercy in what Sidious has commanded of him. The kinfe is too small, too flimsy and though he knows what to do in theory, he has never had to do it before. It will be brutal, protracted, agonising. The only thing he can do to make it even marginally better would be to sever the aorta as soon as possible and let him bleed out.

This is not how things were supposed to go. It's not fair.

Kenobi is lying very still on the table, breathing shallow, painful breaths, tense with pain and the anticipation of more. His blue, blue eyes are full of tears.

"I am sorry... it wasn't meant to end this way." he dares to say.  
His eyes sting and burn and water, his vision blurs. His chest heaves with a sob.

"It's... it's not your fault. You tried." Kenobi whispers.  
He even attempts to smile and that is the worst, the absolute worst.

"I don't want to do this!" he sobs. 

He thought he had run out of tears after Orsis, that his hearts had been scoured clean of sorrow after Sidious made him kill Kilindi and Daleen, but he was wrong. He can still cry, he can still feel sorrow, he can still mourn the things he was never meant to have.

"I know... please, don't make it even harder than it is. Just do it." he sobs in turn. Tears are running down his cheeks. 

He's shaking too, afraid, so afraid he can almost taste it in the Force.  
He doesn't fear battle or death, but this cannot compare and he is terrified of it.

And that's what is worst of all, that this is what he will remember for the rest of his life, however brief and painful: the terror, the screams (because he will scream for as long as he can and then gurgle and gasp for air as he suffocates from a pierced diaphragm), the blood, the stillness of his body, the frantic, useless beating of his torn-out heart... the knowledge that it is his fault for being weak enough to walk into this trap, weak enough to care...

And Sidious knows this, he's enjoying every moment of it, every ounce of extra pain he can extract from the two of them, from the safety of his lair, somewhere on Coruscant or Mustafar...

The thought is like a clap of thunder in his head, waking him up from a nightmare.  
Sidious is not really there. He's using his hologram to project his Force, but he is not physically present. He is relying on his deeply-ingrained fear of him to appear invincible, to make him cower and panic, but he is only a shadow. He doesn't have to be strong enough to defeat him, only smart enough to banish him by dispersing the hologram. 

Maul forces himself to close his eyes and take a series of deep breaths, re-immersing himself in the Force as much as he can with the residues of terror still coursing through his veins.

With any luck Sidious will think that he's steeling himself for the kill, but what he's really trying to do is to recall where the projector might be. 

Stills from their brief, disastrous fight flash through his mind and he slows them up scanning each for his target, like Sidious himself trained him to do. His terror recedes, turning into anger, into strength, into determination.

His head clears, and finally he sees it: a flat-topped projector droid, with tiny wheels, low on the floor, projecting the image upwards from the top surface, into a cone of blue light. It's just underneath Sidious, where his feet should be.

"What are you waiting for, whelp? Do it! Do it!" the old man shrieks, giving his position away.

Maul turns and throws the knife as hard as he can, infusing the blade with as much Force as it can contain.

"No!" Sidious shrieks, but the blade flies true and sinks to the hilt in the droid's circuitry, producing sparks.

The image flickers, glitches and finally disappears as the projector explodes, but Maul is already moving once more.

He's fought assassin droids before, and thought it hard and fraught, but he has never been this angry, he has never craved victory as much as he does now. 

All pain is forgotten as he charges, leaping and downing one of them with a dropkick. The person he used to be would have never attempted it, but his legs were not made of beskar and he had no reason to hate these murderous machines from the bottom of both his hearts.

The droid topples, sparks flying from its middle and Maul disentangles himself from the wreckage, just in time to avoid getting shot at by the other.

Kenobi's chains are still lying on the floor. He rolls and grabs them, lashing out as he stands.  
Steel hits steel with a rasping, clanging sound and the droid staggers backwards, photoreceptors scratched and smashed by the blow. 

Maul hits it again and again, until it topples and then he kicks it, stomping on its head with metal boots until it's little but a crushed mass of metal and circuits.

The quiet of the room is broken only by the sound of his and Kenobi's breath.

He lets the chains fall to the floor and staggers back towards Kenobi, feeling weak with relief and exertion.

"Maul, what... what has happened? Where is he?" he asks, still terrified, still trembling. 

His skin is slick with sweat that plasters his ginger hair to his forehead, and deathly pale under the dark pink flush of fever.

"He's gone. It's over. We're safe." Maul whispers, working his Force around the restraints.

Kenobi's chains break once again, one by one. 

Victory is theirs, for now, but there is still so much to do...

His back hurts like hell and his head spins from a thousand unnamed emotions and thoughts, but he still manages to call the Gauntlet back to the landing bay, carry a nearly-unconscious Kenobi back to it, secure him in the infirmary and fly the ship away.

There is a chill in his bones, a vicious fire coiled in the scar tissue all around his middle. He downs some anti-inflammatories and some strong painkillers, but he knows that he is only staving off the inevitable flare-up. He is buying himself time, but it is precious now, and it is worth it.

Kenobi is burning with fever, weakened by dehydration and hunger and shock, but the sick-bay of the Gauntlet is well-stocked as usual and he does what he can, using all the tricks he's learned in almost thirty-five years of surviving against all odds. 

Kenobi is his, no one else is going to have him, not even disease, he thinks, fighting against his own fever to finish.

By the time he's done, he can barely stand, let alone walk. Every step is torture as it reverberates through his prosthetics, but he still forces himself to crawl to the cockpit and punch in the codes that would guide the ship through a series of decoy jumps and then to its final destination.

The temptation of passing out on the command chair is strong, it promises oblivion and respite, but he ignores it and drags himself step after agonising step back to the sickbay.

With one last, herculean effort he pushes the second gurney closer to Kenobi's and lays down on it, exhausted and still grimy and bloodied. 

Waves of pain rush up what's left of his spine, causing him to whimper with every breath, but he's been through this before many many times in the last thirteen years, he knows he will survive.

He forces his breaths to slow down and his mind to empty. The Dark Side purrs all around him, covering him like a blanket.

He doesn't know how long it takes for sleep to claim him, but eventually it does, and with it nightmares, but when his mind shows him all the ways in which he could have failed, all the alternate futures in which he was forced to give Kenobi the most merciful death he could manage or had to watch helplessly as Sidious cut him up, little by little, he only has to open his eyes to know the truth, to see him lie in the bed next to his, breathing more and more deeply and serenely as antibiotics and oxygen work their wonders on his lungs and the synthskin patches graft on his torso, relieving the pain of exposed nerves.

When all seems like a dream, like the ones he used to have of being rescued, he only has to reach out with his hand to touch him, to know that he is real, that this is real, and they have triumphed somehow.

The pain of knowing that Sidious had purposefully left him to die, that he had never been but a pawn to be used and discarded, that his supposed destiny was just a lie, is strangely muted in those long, quiet moments between wake and sleep. 

Sidious, the Sith, the war... everything seems unimportant compared to the fact that his nemesis is alive, that they still have time, chances, life before them, that they are free.

Strange feelings churn in his hearts, warm and heady, almost completely alien but somehow still comforting. He allows himself to bask in them without investigating.

Knowing seems less important than feeling for now.


	4. The Awakening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter I got fully written out. The rest is outlined, but I am now back in the groove of writing TAE, so the next chapter might take a while.
> 
> WARNINGS: PTDS, aftermath of torture, references to past abuse, chronic illness, swearing.  
> Neither of the characters is in a great mental state, I assure you, but compared to the last chapter, this is a walk in the park.

He wakes up with a start into the soft orangish light, without quite knowing where he is. He hurts all over, in some places even more, and his mind is a confused landscape of fractured horrors and nonsense. 

He remembers being captured, he remembers the Sith Lord and torture, but everything else... everything else must be a fever dream, there is no other explanation. 

Anakin and Ahsoka must have found him, saved him, he must be somewhere on a GRA ship, en route to the Temple, that is the only logical explanation, he tells himself.

He opens his eyes and turns his head to his left, as if by instinct (or memory, fragments of which float to the surface in flashes showing him a shelter in the shadows, comfort in the darkness).

He is there, stretched out on his side, facing him, on an infirmary bed, apparently fast asleep.

Maul.

Blood-stained bandages are wrapped around his waist, and more bandages and plasters decorate his arms, his hands, his chest, stark white against his patterned skin, and cables trail from the back of his prosthetics, hooked to a computer that softly crunches numbers in the background.

He looks almost serene as he sleeps, almost peaceful, his breath deep and regular, his lips curved in a half-smile.

Is it true, then? 

Did Maul really save him? Did he walk into the wolf's den and face his former Master for him? Did he volunteer to be tortured in his stead? Did he risk it all so that he could live?

Part of him, the logical, commonsensical part that knows him to be an enemy, out for his blood, insists that it cannot be true, that it simply doesn't compute, but the fragments of his memory say otherwise and they are too outlandish, too specific for him to have imagined them.

The feel of Maul's tunic draping around his shoulders, the taste of the water from his canteen, the sound of his screams as Sidious tortured them both, the salt of the tears falling on him as he cried, as he mourned him when they both thought it was the end, the warmth of his body as he carried him to safety, the sound of his voice whispering words of comfort, telling him that they were safe, as he thrashed in the throes of a night terror... it all still feels too real to be a dream, even though it would be easier, it would be safer, neater that way.

If none of that was real, he wouldn't have to acknowledge that maybe there is more to his nemesis that deranged violence, that he is capable of being as selfless and noble as any Jedi without ever even coming close to the Light, that he is capable of caring deeply enough for him to throw all his plans in the air at the drop of a hat, to find the strength to fight against his worst fear in order to save him. 

He wouldn't have to ask himself why, what he had done to deserve such intense, unwavering, twisted devotion.

Maul's hand hangs out of the bed, knuckles bruised and scratched, from when he's punched a droid for him. 

Obi-Wan doesn't know what he's thinking when he reaches out for it, seeking contact. 

His fingertips brush against his patterned skin in the barest touch and is it as if a switch has been thrown. 

Maul's eyes open almost instantly, pupils contracting into pinpoints for a moment before dilating back into eclipses that blot out the fire-gold of his irises.

"You are awake." he says. 

His voice is quiet, barely more than a whisper, but there is a tinge of relief to it, a hint of a smile on his face, and he makes no move to take his hand away.

"Is this real? A-re you real?" Obi-Wan asks, hating himself for the way his voice wavers and breaks.

"It is." he replies. 

His hand moves against Obi-Wan's gripping it in a firm, gentle hold. 

His memory flashes back. He's lying on a table, under harsh cold lights and breathing hurts, but he holds on to his hand as the chains break one by one and he knows he can let go, he knows he will be there to catch him.

"All of it?" he rasps.

Maul nods. He looks exhausted and ill, but still strangely content. All the anger that normally accompanied every one of their meetings has evaporated, somehow, leaving behind this strange sort of... intense peaceful feeling that wraps around them both like a blanket, warm and conforting after all they have been through together and separately.

It feels good, and he can't help but give in to it and allow himself to relax. He knows he shouldn't but he is too weak to resist it now. 

At the moment he can't even muster the strength to object to the fact that Maul doesn't seem to be inclined to let go of his hand. Somehow his touch has stopped meaning combat and moved straight to meaning safety and comfort.

It's weird as heck, but he's too tired to care. There will be time to worry about his ulterior motives (there must be some) later, when he's a bit stronger and more lucid.

"Where are we now?" he asks, more to break the silence than because he really cares. 

It's not like he has the strength to actually plan, much less enact a daring escape. It's going to be a reasonably long while until he gets to that point.

He will have to rely fully on his self-appointed nemesis/saviour until then, but he feels strangely unconcerned about it. 

Maul is not all there with his head even in the best of days (and for very, very good reasons, judging from what he's seen and heard), but going though all that trouble and trauma to save him and give him high standard medical care just to harm him later seems exessively byzantine even for him.

"On the Gauntlet, my ship, which is currently parked on Lotho Minor, the last place anyone would think of looking for me." Maul replies. A hint of a tremor shakes the hand that holds his. It's subtle enough that if they weren't pressed so close together, he wouldn't have known it, but it tells him everything he needs to know.

This is where he was abandoned, where he was supposed to die, where he survived alone against all odds for thirteen years.

Obi-Wan has never had the dubious pleasure to visit it before but the landfill planet has been described to him like a physical manifestation of hell, devoid of light, honour or hope, a place that breaks people beyond repair. 

And yet after all he must have done to get out of there, Maul has gone back, of his own free will. For him.

"We are safe, for now. He won't find us here." Maul whispers, perhaps interpreting Obi-Wan's silence as worry.

There is no need to say who's "he". 

Obi-Wan sees him again, insubstantial and blue, clad in a long hooded cloak that leaves only his pale, pointed chin visible, hears his high-pitched, raspy voice, his cruel cackle. Those memories steal his breath and control away, threatening to suck him in even deeper, and they would if not for the hand holding his, if not for the voice.

"Look at me, Kenobi. Look at me. Breathe." the voice says. 

He does. He clings to reality with everything he has, squeezing the hand held in his as hard as he is physically able to, and, little by little, the panic recedes.

"He will never lay a hand on you again. I promise. He will never harm you again." Maul whispers. His eyes shine with conviction and fury.

"Why? Why are you doing this?" he asks. He cannot help it, because he doesn't understand how someone who is supposed to be incapable of caring is doing such a good job with him.

"Because you are mine." the former Sith replies as if it explained everything, and perhaps it does, because even if such declarations of ownership go against everything the Order has taught him, he finds no will inside him to protest it. If anything, the idea of belonging to him makes him feel safe, almost cherished, in a way.

It feels nice to be valued not just for what he can contribute to the cause but for himself, even though the basis for that value judgement is completely twisted.

Maul looks at him almost as if he expected him to deny it, to reject him and was bracing for it. When moments pass and he does not, he visibly relaxes and a ghost of a smile appears again on his lips.

Obi-Wan has the feeling that they could have remained like that for a long time, immersed in that strange, silent companionship, but their weirdly peaceful moment is soon interrupted by a shrill beeping sound.

Maul rubs his face with his free hand and curses in Mando'a under his breath.

"Bloody alarm... Is it alright if I let go now?" he asks, looking quite put upon.

"What... what does it mean? The alarm?" Obi-Wan hates the way his voice sounds shrill with panic, he hates to sound so weak and pathetic, but he can't control the spike of fear that courses through him at the sound.

He is almost too weak to move, and Maul is probably more gravely wounded than it looks, knowing him, and his saber is gone.

If they were found, they wouldn't have any chances and he can't even contemplate the idea of going back. 

The Jedi condemn suicide as a sin of pride and lack of fortitude, but if it comes down to that, he won't take him alive, Obi-Wan thinks, casting his gaze around for something that he can use as an improvised weapon.

"Antibiotics." Maul replies and the words cut through the fog of panic with jarring sharpness.

"What?" he blurts out.

"It's time for your next dose of antibiotics. I set a timer so I'd wake up," Maul explains, much more calmly than a (former? pseudo?) Sith ought to be able to manage.

Obi-Wan takes a deep, gasping breath and tries to push the the panic down.

"I thought... I thought they had..."

Force, he's so pitifully weak that he cannot even say it.

"The proximity alarm is a siren, not a beep." the not-quite Sith says, as matter-of-factly as if he was talking about the weather, but his hand tightens around Obi-Wan's in what has already become a code for reassurance.

"I can play it for you later, so you know what it sounds like, and I'll set the timer to vibrate for the next doses," he adds, almost as an afterthought.

It's not an apology, but it's thoughtful and respectful of his needs. It's a lot more than he had ever expected.

"That... that would be acceptable." Obi-Wan forces himself to say.

Maul contemplates him for another long, intense moment, then slips his free hand under the pillow and pulls out a vibroknife.

"I won't let him take you again. If the worst happens and he finds us, I'll make sure he doesn't catch us alive," he whispers.

It should sound creepy as hell, it should sound wrong, and part of Obi-Wan is fully aware of that, but right now a much bigger part of him is relieved and grateful to hear that.

"Promise me," he rasps, unmindful of the threat of tears that stings his eyes.

Maul nods solemnly.

"I promise you. Never again."

Obi-Wan can't help but sob at those words. He feels raw and exposed, even Maul's touch is too much right now. He retracts his hand and curls up as much as his wounds allow, shivering with a mixture of fever and stress.

His unlikely saviour looks almost taken aback by the development, but after a moment he shakes off his contemplation.

"Better get those antibiotics into you..." he sighs and starts to move, slowly sitting up on the narrow bed and swinging his legs down with an unusual lack of grace.

He limps and grimaces as he plods around the infirmary, and a whimper of pain escapes him as he disconnects the cables that link him to the diagnostic computer.

"Bloody hell..." he whispers, rubbing a hand gingerly at the junction where his back transitions from flesh and bone to metal and cables.

"What... what is going on with you?" Obi-Wan asks, almost in spite of himself. He is not particularly invested in the almost-Sith's wellbeing, but impersonal compassion is the Jedi way and, most of all, he needs the stripy son of a blaster to be alive and ambulatory until he is strong enough to fend for himself once more. That is all.

"It's just a flare up, Kenobi. It's nothing unusual and it'll pass soon enough." Maul replies, cheerfully enough, but the way he moves betrays how much pain he really is in. 

"It is because..."

He didn't want to ask, he doesn't want to care, but the words pour out of him anyway, and his heart wrenches in his chest.

Maul stops whatever he was doing and turns to look at him, but their gazes meet only for a moment before he looks away again, busying himself with ampoules of drugs, syringes and other medical paraphernalia.

"Yes. It is," he replies eventually, after such a long pause that Obi-Wan thought no response would be forthcoming.

He is ready for recriminations and accusations, ready for Maul to blow the proverbial gasket and let it rip, but the torrent of hostility never materialises, and his unlikely saviour keeps working in silence, almost cloaked in a veil of sorrow and shame.

"Would it help if I said I am sorry?" he ventures, he doesn't even know why.

"But are you?" Maul retorts, without even turning, as if he didn't care, but the Force doesn't lie.

He cares. He cares a lot, and he deserves the truth.

"Not about defeating you, no. You killed my Master and wanted to kill me," he starts, without hesitation.

This is easy to say, easy to think. What comes next is harder, but it needs to be said nevertheless.

"But I am sorry that you were abandoned afterwards, that no one found you for years. If I had known, if I had even imagined..."

What would have he done? Getting him out of Lotho Minor would have meant handing him over to the much-hated Jedi for what was likely to be permanent imprisonment. He would have hated it, and hated him, but knowing that he was alive in spite of everything he would have never been able to leave him to suffer alone for even a moment. He didn't know though, he couldn't even have imagined someone could survive a killing blow like a sai tok, but he still feels like he has failed, somehow, that his suffering is still on him...

"It was not your fault," Maul retorts, almost point blank, setting his tools down.

Obi-Wan's train of thought crashes to a halt and all he can do is listen, slack-jawed and confused. Maybe he's still raving with fever, maybe he's still dreaming, but the pain in his body feels too sharp, too real. It must be true, then but it makes no sense.

"Sidious knew I was alive. My stay in this hellhole was no mistake, no oversight, and I don't think it was punishment either. He decided to discard me because I was no use to him alive anymore," Maul explains.

His hands grip the edge of the counter hard enough that his knuckles show light orange under his skin.

"I was never meant to succeed him. I had sort of suspected it for years, maybe deep down I had always known, but I had to convince myself that if I performed well enough, if I didn't displease him, I could stay relatively safe for longer, maybe forever. I had to, or I wouldn't have survived being his... tool, his pawn, his Force-damned slave that long!"

His voice rises and rises, until he slams both his hands on the counter, but that outburst of anger is over almost as soon as it has begun and he curls upon himself, elbows on the counter, hands tangled in his horns, looking as disconsolate as Obi-Wan has ever seen him.

"I knew it was his fault, I just couldn't... I couldn't admit it to myself, because otherwise all I had endured so far, all my life would have been for naught, and that would have killed me more surely than your blade. There had to be another explanation, you see?" he whispers.

"I do. I do..." Obi-Wan says and this time, when Maul turns towards the bed looking drained and done, the hand that is extended in support is his and it is not refused.

"You are the reason why I am still alive." Maul whispers finally, so quiet as to be almost inaudible.

It's because Maul wanted to kill him so much that it became a reason to go on, surely, but the thirteen year old kid starved for praise and affection that still lurks inside him is happy to ignore the creepy, twisted subtext and latch on that need, on that perverse attachment, like it's a lifeline. 

Obi-Wan allows the elation of having mattered so desperately much to flood him for a a long moment before pushing it back ruthlessly. It is not right for a Jedi to harbour feelings of personal importance and hubris, attachment leads only to suffering, and it's not even fair to let Maul say something like this when it's blatantly not true, no matter how much he likes the (wrong, forbidden) sound of it. Credit should be given where it is due and he is owed nothing of it.

"No, I was not. I was just a prop, a pretext. The real reason you are still alive is that you were not prepared to give up, that you were strong enough to pull it off. Much stronger than you give yourself credit for," he retorts, using all his training to keep his expression from showing anything at all.

You don't need me. You never did. You and everybody else in the Galaxy.

Maul looks away and lets go of his hand, turning towards one of the computer screens as if its readout had become absolutely riveting. He looks almost embarrassed. 

Then again, praise must be almost unknown to him and part of Obi-Wan can't help but think it's a bloody shame. 

"Yes, so magnificiently strong that I wasted away on this cesspit of a planet for thirteen years, eating literal garbage and going insane until Savage saved my sorry prosthetic arse... Behold, the power of the Dark Side!" Maul argues his words bitter with sarcasm, finishing his piece with a flourish and a short, harsh laugh.

"Bollocks!" Obi-Wan exclaims in a sudden, unexpected outburst that makes Maul take a step away, a concerned expression on his face.

"That is an absolute pile of bollocks! You were meant to die of shock or blood loss in minutes, or of septicemia in mere hours, and yet you lasted thirteen years on your own in a place where even fully healthy people would have given up. If that is not a bloody miracle, I don't know what would qualify!" he continues. His blood boils with outrage at the idea that he might think himself a failure for what he has been through. It's wrong, awful, unfair.

He hits his fist as hard as he can on the rail of the bed, seeking an outlet for the feelings that roil inside him. 

Why is he feeling so much? Why is he caring so much? 

He doesn't want this, but he cannot stop it, he cannot control it. The taint that he has managed to suppress for so long has come out in full force again, making him feel raw and exposed, making him boil over with unwanted, unneeded, unbefitting emotions.

His wounds flare with pain at the foolish exertion, tearing a gasp from his throat. He wraps his arms around his torso, curling upon himself and sinking back against the mattress taking shallow, painful breaths that seem to bring him no air at all.

For a moment Maul's expression looks completely blank, then he darts to adjust the painkiller drip until the pain goes from excruciating to numb once more, and fresh air rushes down his throat, sweet like nothing else he's ever tasted before.

"Why are you so upset about this, of all things?" Maul asks quietly once he's settled down enough to be able to reply.

Obi-Wan cannot help but shy away from his earnest, open, almost vulnerable gaze.

"I... I don't know."

The words come out as a sob, and suddenly he can't stop and there are tears pouring down his face and a painful, hollow feeling in his chest that makes him feel like he's empty inside, only a human-shaped shell wrapped around nothing at all.

I don't want to feel like this. Make it stop. Make it stop, please... he begs and he's tired, so tired of battling with feelings he shouldn't feel and thoughts he shouldn't think, that he wishes he could just stop existing at all.

Things would be much easier if Maul had just behaved like he was trained to expect and taken his revenge. Now the foundations of what he knows he should believe have crumbled and he feels like he has crumbled with them.

"What you said before... Thank you for the credit you give me, deserved or not. I will try to live up to your lofty expectations, my nemesis," Maul whispers after a while.

"But in the meantime I'll just get these antibiotics into you, if that is alright with you," he explains, jiggling the syringe in his hand, and strange as it may seem, there is no trace of sarcasm in that remark. He is really asking him his consent for a medical procedure. What has the Galaxy come up to?

Obi-Wan nods. He tries to wipe the tears from his face, but even with painkillers, his sides hurt too much, so he just lets them be. It's already as embarrassing as it can be, so why worry?

The only worse thing that can happen is him waking up from a nightmare, crying for his mom or something, but that can be easily fixed.

"Can... can you also give me something to sleep without dreams?" he manages to ask.

Maul nods back and grabs another syringe that sat already prepared on the counter.

"You need all the rest you can get," he comments dispassionately as he dispenses both drugs in the access port with practiced ease.

It's most likely just placebo effect, but he already feels better, more relaxed.

His eyes drift closed with a mixture of drugs and exhaustion, and even though he shouldn't, he can't help but feel safe next to his self-appointed nemesis.

"You can let go. I'll stand watch over you."

Obi-Wan doesn't know if those words and the feel of a warm hand carding gently through his hair are real or imagined, but they are comforting and it is enough for him.


End file.
